


Rage

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Suilad Aran Thranduil [13]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: I so love them, Oh wow, look another Legolas and Thranduil are fighting thing, mah babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:24:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is their low blow. She is the punch that is thrown that all agree was uncalled for. She is the punch that hits vital points and leaves the fear of death behind it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rage

**Author's Note:**

> I state here that Legolas and Thranduil fight a lot, and have 'violent' fights. I am not saying that they PHYSICALLY hurt each other. They may throw things around, but never at each other. They may hit things, but never each other. They're just violent in the way that their fights can get SO VERY heated where if you were a witness to the fight you couldn't be sure they weren't going to start tearing each other apart before your eyes. The kind of heated where your instincts are screaming at you to get out because there is danger. Their damage to each other is done with words and words alone. They love each other more than life itself, but they share the same type of anger, and they think about things differently, so whenever they're on apposing sides it tends to result in a massive fight. Because Thranduil is the king so his word is law, but occasionally Legolas disagrees with him, but Legolas is only the prince so his opinion doesn't matter as much, hence fights. And their fights can get so heated they resort to battle tactics like 'strike for the heart' where they go for the blow they know will hurt the other the most, even if it's not true. Like when you fight with your siblings and they're like 'I WISH YO HAD NEVER BEEN BORN' or something and then you're like 'YEAH WELL YOU WERE AN ACCIDENT' and shit like that. Except Thranduil and Legolas lob more seriously fucking heartbreaking shit at each other.   
> I just thought I would clarify that point. :)

Fights in their home are not rare occurrences. Violent, angry, loud fights between them are not rare occurrences. They bear the same anger, the same raw rage that boils like a volcano within them until one day it erupts, and the shockwaves ripple through the air and do nothing but trigger the other. They share that. Some days are better than others. Some days they can control the emotions that threaten to engulf them. Some days they know how to act around each other without coming to blows. But sometimes, sometimes there is nothing either of them can do to keep from erupting, and when they do, they enshroud the entire kingdom in the thick, choking ash that is a prince and a king at war with each other while their people flounder in the middle.

Even their apologies are met with apprehension. Even their apologies sometimes do nothing more than add more insult to injury. They aren’t good at this. They aren’t good at speaking to each other when their emotions get in the way. The queen used to be the buffer, the one to keep their fights from escalating, but the queen is gone now, gone to another place, gone where she cannot hear them arguing. Gone where her heart cannot break with the knowledge that they now fight over her too. She is their low blow. She is the punch that is thrown that all agree was uncalled for. She is the punch that hits vital points and leaves the fear of death behind it. She is the punch where one apologizes even as their arm is still falling away after the motion. She is the punch that leaves a lasting wound.

* * *

“Do not speak to me of your mother. She would still be alive today if you hadn’t…” Thranduil bites down hard on the rest of that sentence, bites so hard he can hear the small crunch as his teeth crash together. But he is not fast enough, he watches the change come over his son, the stiffening of the shoulders, the clenching of the fists, the lifting of the head, the toss of the hair as the chin is brought up, the hardening of the eyes.

“Oh, no, father don’t stop there. Do go on. I want to hear the rest of that sentence. Go on.” Legolas goads, his voice is the snow and ice upon the Hithaeglir, even Sauron might freeze at the sound of it. Thranduil bites his lip and shakes his head, a little noise sounding in the back of his throat. “No, come on father. A drunk mind speaks a sober heart, I would hear what you’ve always thought of me since mother died. Come now. You’ve obviously been holding it in a long time. It’s bad to let anger fester, isn’t that what you’ve always said? Let it out, father. Go on.”

“No. No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I- you know as well as I that the only ones to blame for your mother’s death are Sauron and the orcs that killed her. I’m sorry.” But it does nothing to thaw Legolas, instead he shakes his head.

“I would like to be excused, father, before I say anything I might regret.” Thranduil wrings his hands and looks for all the world like he’s going to refuse. “Please, father, I must insist. You always taught me to learn from your mistakes and I am trying to. You have already said quite enough for the both of us. Should I linger any longer in this poisonous air I do not know what shall come out of my mouth.” Thranduil hesitates for a moment more before giving a jerky nod and swallowing heavily. Legolas bows low and turns on his heel. “Thank you.” He breezes out the door, his father’s heart breaking behind him as the ice around his own heart starts to melt as the pain burns through.

* * *

“Do not speak to me of mother! She would still be alive today if you had…” Legolas bites down hard on his lower lip, on that sentence. He bites down so hard that he draws blood. He is not fast enough. Enough of the words are already in the air between them. He sees the mask slam up onto his father’s face, he sees his father square his shoulders as he does before a battle, and he sees his hands twitching as they resist the urge to draw a weapon. “I-I’m sorry. I-“ but Thranduil’s bitter little laugh cuts him off.

“No, no, go on. Please, there’s so much I believe you wish to say to me. I’d have you speak your feelings, Legolas. You know how bad it is to let anger fester. Come along now.” But Legolas shakes his head, tears burning in his eyes.

“Adar. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t. You did everything you could to keep Nana and I safe, you did everything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to say that, I-“

“You are excused Legolas.” Thranduil cuts him off again, turning away, back to his paper work.

“Ada… please.”

“You have already said quite enough, Legolas, you are dismissed, go now before you say anything else you regret, and anything I will be forced to take action on.” Legolas hesitates for a long moment emotions flickering across his face. “I said go!” Legolas fights back against his tears, bows low and drags himself from the room. The moment he’s gone, Thranduil swipes his hand along the desk with a scream, all the paperwork, all of the ink, and his quill go flying up into the air to land in a messy pile on the floor. See if he cares as the items on his bookshelf join them. See if he cares as his heart joins them. See if he cares.

* * *

With the amount they fought, who was to know respite would come in the form of a suicide mission? Who was to know Thranduil would note the paperwork on his desk days after it was too late to do anything to change it? Who was to know Legolas would volunteer on a mission he knew would destroy his father should he not return from it? Who was to know their parting words to each other would be ones of anger and hatred, and that for over a year they would have no news of each other except the odd and often unreliable rumour?

* * *

“Ada.” He chokes over the word, stumbling forward as his body trembles and his eyes blur with tears. When he finally tumbles it is to be held against a solid chest by arms trembling just as much as he is. “Adar.” He whispers holding close. “I’m sorry.”

“Ion nin, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You came home. You came home.” Out of respect, the gathered elves, and Gimli, turn aside when Thranduil breaks down crying, his son held tight in his arms. “Oh my son, I’m sorry. I should never have let you go. We should never have fought. I should never have- I’m sorry.”

* * *

Who was to know respite would come in the form of the prince moving far away forever? Who was to know?


End file.
